Tyballis squinted through dark bluster and freezing sleet. ‘You keep telling me to trust you,’ she muttered. ‘But you always used to tell me not to. And you haven’t any right to be angry. I was just trying to save your life.’
Drew stared at her in sudden blank astonishment. ‘Good God, child. You nearly got me killed.’
The waves reared, swamping the low gunwales, slapping against her face. At least she knew her tears would be disguised. Through the storm clouds, a full moon peeped, was hidden, then peeped again. Flashes of intermittent moonlight spangled silver flecks on wave crests, and slanted beneath the boat’s cover, glowing on the damp sheen of her borrowed coat. Tyballis continued to clutch it desperately around her. Fur-trimmed, the sleek silvery velvet was sewn into padded folds, and although the lining was thin silk, the whole was as warm as a bed cover and even more impermeable. Her feet, however, were in water. The bottom of the small boat was a slurping dirty slush. She was trembling, eyes wide, teeth clenched, and only partly from the cold.
Andrew Cobham slowly relaxed the oars, looked at her with faint sympathy and smiled a little more gently. ‘Come here,’ he demanded over the wind.
There seemed nowhere to come. Already her knees touched his. She stared back, speechless, not daring to move as the boat rocked violently. So, he hitched both oars under his arms and reached for her, bringing her tight snuggled between his legs with her face buried against his chest. His velvet doublet was smooth and soft on her cheeks. ‘Don’t blow your nose on my coat,’ he warned her. ‘It’s not mine. And don’t look at the water. Keep tight against me and hang on. In a few minutes we’ll be under the bridge and there’ll be a drop of a few feet and a damned nasty surge. It’s not dangerous, but you’re better off not watching.’
‘That’s where –’ she mumbled.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But this time you’re with me.’
She clutched his coat around her and nestled against him, keeping her head obediently down, blind to the storm. The fear remained, but with each stroke of the oars she felt the sweeping control of his muscled arms and shoulders. His calm strength became her confidence. She simply hoped that, if they survived at all, he would not hate her.
It seemed to take forever but as the shadows of the bridge enclosed them in sudden blackness, the boat tilted and the current took them. Andrew stopped rowing but used one oar, flat-edged, to steer and to ward off the passing stone. They hurtled between the pillars, carried by the surge. Tipping forwards, the prow plunged into the whirling torrent, struck down, slammed the tidal swell and took on waves of white foaming spray. Paddling one handed, Andrew glanced frequently behind, keeping the course steady. His other hand held Tyballis crushed against him. She wriggled lower, hiding her face.
Then they had passed safely beneath the bridge. The overhanging shadows blinked out and the boat straightened at once. They floated free.
Andrew Cobham said, ‘You may now remove your face from my groin. We are nearly home.’ He pulled the wherry in to shore, looping a rope to the bottom step of the Portsoken pier and hauling it tight. The boat still danced on the waves but the wind had calmed and the rain had slunk to a misty drizzle. Balancing wide-legged against the keel’s erratic roll, Andrew stood looking down at Tyballis.
‘I can’t stand,’ she whispered.
He leaned down and again lifted her, propping her gently against his shoulder. She hung on. As he climbed the ladder up from the turbulent waters, she clung tighter. ‘If you strangle me,’ he said with faint amusement, ‘I am more likely to drop you. Now, here we are. The ground is wet, but quite firm. Can you stand yet?’
Her knees shook. She said, ‘I think I can.’
‘But barefoot and soaked, you’ll doubtless fall sick and delay my return to work yet again,’ he said as he swung her once more into his arms and carried her into the dark alleys away from the Thames. ‘However, if you’ve convinced yourself I can’t see that you’re crying, then you’re quite mistaken.’
His stride was long, loose and rhythmic, and in minutes the frontage of Cobham Hall loomed, its dark struts and flaking plaster all suddenly lit by emerging moonshine. But Mister Cobham did not set her down. He kicked open the door and strode inside.
The cluster of people, forlorn, worried and grouped in the hall’s dreary shadows, looked up expectantly and hurried forwards.
Drew said, ‘No fire yet?’ and marched past them towards his own quarters. Kicking open each door he passed, he entered his own bedchamber and dropped Tyballis unceremoniously onto the bed. Then he firmly removed his coat from around her, looked at her for a slow and thoughtful moment, then went to the window seat, lifted the lid and took out a wide linen towel, which he threw to the bed. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered, and she did.
She was shivering violently. Naked to the waist, all she now wore were the remains of her skirts barely held by torn ribbons to the belt around her hips. Both were soaked and clung to her. Tyballis, wrapping her arms around herself to hide the inevitable embarrassment, sniffed and wished she had a kerchief. She whispered, ‘I can go upstairs to bed now. I don’t need looking after. And there’s Felicia –’
He was watching her intently but did not seem to be smiling. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Since you appear quite willing to climb into other men’s beds, it might as well be mine.’
The intensity of his gaze distressed her. She was more miserable, more embarrassed even than she had been struggling from Lord Marrott’s embrace. Her arms crossed firmly over her breasts, she looked down at her wet toes and said very softly, ‘I had a reason. It wasn’t – not at all the way it must have looked.’
‘Why apologise to me?’ he said. ‘I demand no explanations. I’m not your husband.’
His appraisal was undisguised and she thought he looked haughty, angry, and even unkind. Clearly he discounted her obvious discomfiture. She tried not to sniff. ‘You – you rescued me. You keep rescuing me. So, I think perhaps you have a right to know why. And I want you to understand.’
‘There will be a time for understanding,’ he nodded. ‘But not yet.’ He pointed to the towel. ‘Dry yourself. Then get into bed.’
Tyballis grabbed the towel and wrapped it quickly around her bare shoulders. The warmth was immediately reassuring and at last she was partially covered. She hesitated, hoping he would go. He did not. She thought his eyes vaguely sinister as he slowly looked her over. She said, ‘Do you mean to stay? I mean – you want me to –’
‘Yes, I want you,’ he interrupted her. ‘Would that be unexpected? You have been almost naked in my arms for the past few hours.’
She hung her head again. ‘You undressed me twice, so you ought to be … used to me. You even kissed me and I– I said … but then you went away. You didn’t care.’
The smile started in the very corners of his mouth, tucking up tightly, lifting his cheekbones and gradually reaching his eyes. Yet his eyes remained cold. ‘Are you, by any chance, offering to save my life a second time?’ he said. ‘How unwise. I am not in what you might call a gentle mood.’
‘You haven’t any right to be angry, or patronising,’ Tyballis insisted, lifting her chin. ‘And you don’t know what I meant, or whether I was offering anything!’
‘I know exactly what you meant.’ He smiled, unblinking. ‘But I do not accept bribes, nor do I recognise acts of shame or penance. I am moved neither by your guilt nor your gratitude. I can offer you nothing in comparison to Marrott’s inducements and I have nothing to match his attractions. I warn you, my dear, you waste your time on me.’